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Running From Empty
Running From Empty
Running From Empty
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Running From Empty

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Persephone's life is thrown into a turmoil when her mother dies and she learns that her father has been carrying on a long term affair. In her anger and sadness, she turns to her best friend, Violet, who seduces her. They begin an intense physical relationship, which Persephone depends on more and more to fill the emotional void she feels after her mother’s death. Although she feels completely abandoned by her parents, she does find support from a number of peers and adults in her life. Their support is not enough, however, to keep her from turning to self-destructive behavior, leading to a crisis and a break up with Violet. It is only when she has pushed everyone away that she realizes that she is the only one who can fill the emptiness.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherSara Diaz
Release dateMar 5, 2011
ISBN9781458009562
Running From Empty
Author

Sara Diaz

I have worked as a social worker and counselor in public schools for nearly twenty years and especially enjoy working with adolescents. My husband and two children inspired me to write several children's stories that I plan to publish soon. I love to read in my spare time, especially books that draw me in emotionally. Some of my favorite authors are Wally Lamb, James Baldwin and Catherine Coulter. As you can tell, I enjoy many different kinds of books!

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    Book preview

    Running From Empty - Sara Diaz

    ***************

    Running

    From

    Empty

    ***************

    By Sara R. Diaz

    Cover Art by Joy Guo

    Copyright 2011 Sara R Diaz

    Smashwords Edition

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    .

    Chapter One

    1979

    Don’t be afraid of change. That’s easy to say if you’ve lived a life void of it. But those are the words I remember my mother telling me as she prepared to go back to the working world after 12 years of being just a mom. I was sitting on her bed. Watching her ritual. First, the underwear and bra…always matching. Never ignore your underclothes. You never know when someone might see them. I tried to imagine such a situation…falling off of a tree branch? Swinging so high that your skirt blows back in the breeze? I just wore shorts. I stared at her figure. Would I ever have breasts that big? Next the garter, also matching. Stockings pulled up from the toes, like unrolling a donut. Would I get fat from having kids? Next, the slip. Dress over the head. It’s not proper to step into a dress, Persephone. It drags on the floor and could get dirty. What’s more, as you pull it up, you raise your slip and you only have to reach under to pull it down afterwards. The Art of Dressing According to Meredith Watkins. Don’t wear dresses unless you have to. They just get in the way of everything fun in life. The Art of Dressing According to Persephone Watkins. Shoes. Sensible, low-heeled black pumps. High heels are fashionable, but very bad for the back. Sit at the dressing table, put on makeup. Base. Powder. If you don’t use powder, your forehead will shine. Ladies don’t sweat. She must have never played tag football at recess. Lipstick. Done. Well, Percy? Do I look ready for my first day of work?

    I carefully considered my answer. I was at the same time angry and proud. I was going to have to make my own lunches now, probably the night before, since I could barely make it to the school bus as it was. I’d be destined to eat cereal every morning for the rest of my life, since I wasn’t allowed to turn on the stove by myself. But, a Working Mother of a Latchkey Child. How important. How perfectly melodramatic. You look nice, mom. I hope you like your first day of High School. She smiled, then laughed. A warm, sincere laugh. She really was beautiful.

    Five years later, as I dressed for her funeral, I watched my ritual in the full-length mirror. I watched her watching me. She sat behind me, on the bed. Legs crossed, always the lady. First, the underwear and bra. My one matched set had holes on the side seams. I heard her warning about someone seeing my underwear. I now knew some other ways that could happen besides falling out of a tree. Probably not today, however. It was 90 degrees, so I decided to forgo the slip and pantyhose. Sorry mom, I said to myself as I watched her shake her head in disapproval. I stepped into my navy blue sundress. If you have carpeting, the dress doesn’t get dirty, Mom. I sat on my desk chair and pulled on my brown platform sandals.

    Persephone, those heels are too high. You won’t be able to walk. Besides, open toed shoes are an invitation for people to scrutinize your feet.

    Oh, Mom. They’re really not high heels if the front is high too. Besides, my feet will sweat in pumps. Look, I even painted my toenails to match my fingers. At that, she smiled in approval. I combed my brown, wavy hair with my fingers. Don’t forget deodorant. No makeup today, too hot. Friendship ring from Vy on the left hand. Mood ring on the right hand. Probably will be blue all day, I thought. I looked at myself in the mirror.

    So Mom, do I look ready my first funeral? I shifted my glance to the bed, but she was gone. All alone. The tears stood, frozen, just behind my lashes. They were afraid. If the first one jumped, the others would surely follow and they would all get lost in the flood.

    The gravesite was on the far side of the cemetery, overlooking the golf course where Vy, Leila and I would go sledding every winter. It struck me as odd, sitting in the front row of the folding chairs set up in the grass, that I never noticed the cemetery. Maybe mom would be able to watch me sled again, like she used to do before she got sick. If it was even true that dead people can still see what happens on earth. I was surprised to see all the people seated behind me. I saw a lot of my teachers from elementary school, as well as the Principal and Assistant Principal. After so many years of being class mother, all the teachers knew her. I glanced to the side and noticed several of my teachers, teachers whom I had barely gotten to know. Now they would see my secret. They would know me too much. I never liked going to the same school where Mom worked, but I didn’t mean for it to end like this. There were Leila and her parents. Vy, Jeremy and Mrs. Delaney sat near them, and even Mr. Delaney was all the way in the back. Practically everyone from Dad’s office was there, and most of the people that lived on our street. All these people knew my Mom. They loved her. I would always be proud of her.

    The pastor began to speak and I turned around. He welcomed everyone and said my mother’s name. Meredith Delilah Shelby Watkins, beloved wife of Adam Watkins, mother of Raymond Shelby and Persephone Delilah... I heard a moaning sound, which grew into a wail, as my eyes brimmed over with a gush of tears. All my grief, which had tried repeatedly to surface, only to be pushed down by my desperate attempt to feel normal, broke through the dam that I had slowly but methodically built during the past year of operations, radiation, chemotherapy, remission, hope and death. I felt Ray’s arm wrap around my shoulder, pulling me into him, enclosing me in the same protective circle as he did after my frequent nightmares about cancer cells eating my brain, when he would climb into my bed to comfort me. I lowered my head onto his chest. My sobs became his sobs. My grief, his. At some point, the ceremony finished and I felt myself being pulled up to stand. My legs felt like jelly as I walked between my father and brother, looking through my tears at the people who had gathered to honor my mother’s life.

    I stood at the edge of the hole as they lowered the casket into the ground. I looked down and had one singular thought. I longed to jump down and climb in the casket next to Mom, just like all the evenings I had climbed into her bed to cuddle together and talk about my day. How could I live and never feel my mother’s arms around me again? I imagined myself leaping into the grave. I felt my knees weaken and the casket came rushing towards me. Cool air soothed my face as a feeling of tranquility washed over me. Suddenly, hands grabbed me and pulled back, hard. I felt someone’s hand on my face and then a wet cloth. I opened my eyes and realized that I was in the limousine. I turned my head and saw Dad looking down at me from the other back seat.

    What happened? I asked, dazed.

    You must have fainted because you almost fell in the grave! Dad answered. Are you okay now? Does anything hurt?

    I didn’t answer right away. Dad’s attention was foreign, unexpected. Like hearing the words to a song you once knew so well and not remembering the chorus. When in doubt, hum the melody and trust that the words will come back. Mr. Lake, choir teacher.

    Hold me Dad, please. I’m scared. See me. Hear me, was what I needed to say. But I didn’t know those words. I’m okay Dad, don’t worry. It was the only chorus I could remember. I felt a hand touch my arm and knew it was Vy before I even looked. She helped me sit up and leaned into the car, inquisitive.

    Did you do it on purpose? Vy had a way of seeing me more clearly than I saw myself.

    I just want to go with her. I wish I could just go see her and then come back. Maybe it’s not even her in there. Maybe they’re all just playing a trick and she’s really at home, waiting for me. Let’s go home, Vy. My voice rambled. I was lying on top of the car looking in through the sunroof at two best friends, one who was always together, the other who was leaking out slowly, like a saturated Dixie cup.

    Let’s go for a walk. Come on, we’ll go to the stage. My father had left me once he knew I was breathing. He was murmuring with some of his friends from work. Everyone was so quiet, whispering, gesturing, wiping a silent tear. Were they afraid to wake her?

    Percy on the roof chastised me… How could you scream like that? You cried too loud, too long! Everyone looked at you! I looked up at her, fearful at first, then ashamed. Ok, let’s go. I have to get out of here so I can breathe. My legs felt weak as I stood up too fast. I leaned on Vy a little as we started to walk away. I looked back one last time, wondering where Ray had gone. Maybe he had already escaped the humid despair.

    As we started walking down the hill, I looked at Vy’s long, straight, blond hair. She had always worn it the same…loose, parted to one side, tucked behind her ear. Simple. So pretty you didn’t even notice at first. Mom always thought Vy was strikingly beautiful. She would tell her until Vy’s pale skin turned pink. Violet, you have stunning hair. You should dress up a little more and show yourself off. You’ve gotten so tall...you really could be a model, like Farrah Fawcett even! I heard the criticism behind the compliment, but Vy never complained.

    I would wish Mom were more like Mrs. Delaney. Sandra. I would insist, Your mom never bugs you about what you wear, or when to go to bed, or the last time you took a bath, or anything! And she’s cool. She seems young, like us, the way she laughs and jokes and stuff.

    Yeah, she’s real cool. Vy would smile in agreement, but her eyes looked away. It wasn’t until the summer after seventh grade that I began to understand why Vy’s mother was cool, detached, young. I was spending the night at Vy’s and woke up smelling a horrible smell. I shook Vy awake and told her it smelled like someone left the gas on in the oven. Vy just looked at me for a long time before she said, No, it’s just my Mom smoking pot.

    Pot? What’s that? I said.

    You know, marijuana. What are you, stupid? Don’t you know what marijuana is?

    Oh. Marijuana. Sure I know what it is. But isn’t it illegal?

    Vy’s dark eyes narrowed and her voice got harsh. You ask too many stupid questions. Let’s just go back to sleep.

    Naively, I asked Mom about it the next day. Hey Mom, isn’t pot illegal? She put down the dish she had been drying and turned around. Her face looked pale.

    Why do you ask? Did someone at school try to get you to smoke some?

    No, well... I was at Vy’s house last night and I smelled it. It smells like gasoline. All of a sudden, I wished I hadn’t said a word. Mom whipped out the criticism like a wind-up toy. She didn’t even stop to breathe.

    Vy’s house? Vy’s house? I knew her brother was no good. Didn’t I tell you not to hang around him? But you always think just because a boy is cute...

    Mom, it wasn’t Jeremy! It was Mrs. Delaney.

    Her mother? Violet Delaney’s mother was smoking marijuana? While you were in the house? I could see Mom was furious, but then her face softened. Well, to answer your question, yes, it is illegal. Poor Violet, Mom shook her head slowly, having to grow up like that.

    Like what? I wondered. Mom, do you have to tell Dad? Somehow, I thought Dad would be madder than Mom. But later on, Dad had only said that he would prefer it if Violet would sleep over our house instead, and something about her getting to spend some time as a family. When I told Vy that my folks wanted her to sleep over our house, instead of me staying over at her house, I thought Vy would be mad. But Vy looked thrilled. Since then, Vy was over just about every weekend and even some school nights. She never even asked why my parents had decided that. Maybe she already knew. Maybe she didn’t care.

    Vy looked so quiet, even for her. She was just staring at the ground, like the answers were scratched in the dirt. How do you talk to your best friend about your mom dying? The silence felt heavier than the still, sultry air that surrounded us. My mother really liked you. Talk about an understatement. But it felt awkward to say love. Vy breathed in deeply. She seemed to be considering an answer, but said nothing. I couldn’t stand the silence, however, and kept talking. Do you remember when I said that my parents wanted you to sleep over, instead of me staying at your place?

    Vy looked over at me. I saw a tear fall down her cheek and tremble at the base of her jaw. She wiped it away but another one replaced it. Maybe she had felt bad about that. Rejected. Why did I always have to say everything? I was always saying too much. Hurting people.

    Percy, you need to work on tact. Mrs. Plitt, Home Economics teacher. She had been looking over her glasses at the hem I was trying to sew, telling me, for the fifth time, small, even stitches, and I asked her if she knew her eyebrows were two different colors. I was just curious…one time I knew a girl with one blue and one green eye. I didn’t mean to offend her, but I felt bad as soon as she pulled out her makeup mirror and flushed a dark red. That’s how it always was with me.

    Vy breathed again, but this time she talked. A few days after that I was sleeping over. You were in the shower and I was lying on your bed, listening to your Eagles album. Your mom came in to put some of your clothes away and she sat down on the bed with me. She asked me how I was doing and stuff, and then she asked me if everything was okay at home. I knew what she was talking about, because I figured you told her about my Mom smoking when you were there. I wanted to tell her so bad, Percy, but I couldn’t talk. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t say anything, I don’t think, and she just put her hand under my chin so I had to look at her. Vy’s voice shook. And she said, ‘Violet, you have been Percy’s friend for a long time. You’re like a member of our family and you are always welcome in this house. Anytime you want to talk, you just let me know.’ That’s when I knew I loved your mom.

    I didn’t know what to say. I said nothing. How come mothers are more understanding with other people’s children? She had always asked me a thousand questions until my sheer aggravation drove out the answers. The silence was gaining weight. When in doubt, use humor. Well, Vy, now I’m screwed.

    Huh?

    If I’m in mourning and you’re in mourning, who’s gonna cheer me up? I forced a laugh. Vy managed to smile. It almost looked genuine. She pulled out a baggie and held it in front of my face.

    Tadaaaa! she sang, waving the pot from side to side.

    Put that away! Are you crazy? I was looking around, but we were all alone at the end of the golf course. Only then did I smile.

    We continued walking toward the stage. Alone, I would have never had the guts to even try and find it. But Vy had a way of making me do things…not to say she forced me, but she was more inquisitive and daring than I. I had never heard of the stage, even though it was right behind the small strip of stores where I had spent so much free time ever since I had been allowed to cross Main Street by myself. That was me…only seeing the obvious, too naïve or too afraid to look deeper.

    We walked behind Bizek’s Market and started up the well-worn path to the clearing. As I listened to the crunch crunch our feet made in the leaves, I recalled the first time we came to this place. Jason and Edgar had come over the first Saturday of summer. We were already bored—the park district summer camp wasn’t starting for another week and we were looking for something to pass the time. Vy had spent the night, as usual, and the four of us figured we’d walk over to the stores and hang out. The stage was Jason’s idea. He had only heard about it, but Vy said she’d been there before. She told us that it used to be for outdoor concerts in the sixties and now it was where the potheads hung out. I was wondering why she had been there as we came to the clearing surrounding the old, wooden stage and rows of bleachers. There were a group of kids there already, sitting around and laughing. Hey, Mark, pass another one! We heard, followed by the snap and fizzle of an opening beer can. As I looked around at the kids, I realized why Vy knew about the stage. Her brother, Jeremy, was in the middle of the group, just lighting up a joint. Edgar was pulling at Jason.

    Come on, let’s go. I don’t want to get in trouble, Edgar said, under his breath.

    Why? What are you, chicken? retorted Jason. I felt bad for Edgar—there’s no way you can get out of it when someone says that. What are you supposed to do? Say, Oh yes, as a matter of fact I am. Baak Baak! I was curious enough to stay, but I had butterflies already. That’s when Jeremy noticed us. We walked over to where they were sitting and a girl held out a six-pack to me.

    Want one?

    Sure, I answered, trying to sound like I knew what I was doing. I looked at the can. Old Style. Not that it made a difference.

    No, thanks, said Vy. The girl kind of looked at her. I really don’t like beer, she added. I figured she didn’t want to drink in front of her brother. The girl shrugged and offered it to the boys, who each took one.

    Hey, man, isn’t that your sister? One of the guys nudged Jeremy’s arm.

    Yeah, um, everybody, this is Vy and her friend, Percy, Jeremy began sheepishly. Um…these are…

    Edgar and Jason, I volunteered.

    Jeremy had smoked some and passed it along before standing up and approaching us. I could smell the pot as he exhaled and it made me light headed. I remembered the night at Vy’s last year and how dense I must have seemed thinking

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